


give me enough, i'll find my way home

by puchuupoet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Dayquil Drunk, Gen, Inspired by Fanart, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Searching for Home, Steve Rogers's Motorcycle, introspective, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 03:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puchuupoet/pseuds/puchuupoet
Summary: While mostly recovered, Bucky's still confined to the Tower. But he's searching for something, and walls aren't gonna get in his way.





	give me enough, i'll find my way home

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this artwork: https://twitter.com/buckysstars/status/1174856017068380167
> 
> I couldn't get his face out of my head so I wrote a thing.

i

“Steve, come on, just a quick trip out,” Bucky’s not whining, not yet at least, and Steve’s already giving him a Look. “It’ll be fast, I just need to find a spot with a good view.”

“Nothing involving the open road and you is quick, Buck,” Steve gives him a tired smile, and Bucky remembers he had a day full of meetings before coming back to Bucky and even more paperwork. “I’m sure you can find what you need in the Tower, right?”

Bucky bites back the _”yes mom”_ that’s hovering on his tongue. He’s getting serious flashbacks to when they were younger, when Steve was the one pushing an exhausted Bucky out the door. He’d call it payback but with all that’s happened since then, he’s pretty sure that on some level, they’re even. 

“You’re right, ‘m sorry,” and yeah, even Steve raises an eyebrow at that. “Y’know I get stir-crazy in here, it just…” he trails off, one hand absent-mindedly moving to rub at his arm. 

“Why not ask Tony if he knows a place. It’s his fuckin’ building,” and Bucky bursts out in surprised laughter at the exhausted curse. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Bucky heads towards the front door, pausing only to silently grab his wallet and the smallest set of keys. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. Who knows where Stark’ll take me.”

ii.

When Bucky asks Stark about the best view on the tower, he’s taken to the floor with the open bar and extended pool stretching out over the horizon. It’s still secluded, the reach not extending the floor above, but there’s a thrill at seeing the water spill over onto New York, real or not.

“Just, aah, clean up after yourself and all that,” Stark delivers with a wink before leaving Bucky alone, and he feels like he needs a shower just from the conversation.

Stark’s not wrong though...about the view, Bucky quickly amends, nothing else. The sun’s already dipped behind the taller buildings, casting a golden glow on the pool. The city thrums through him; not in an intimate way, not anymore, but it’s still familiar enough to bring some sense of comfort.

Leaning against the railing, Bucky twists to look up. He can barely see the stretch of the Tower, but he does see the soft form of the moon starting to break through. Yeah, the view is probably the best in the tower— minus the levels with those silly security protocols — but it’s not quite the best one Bucky’s looking for. 

Looking back out over the city, Bucky tries to remember where Steve had pointed out _home_ for them. He’s still recovering, still filling in the gaps and trying to earn the trust of others, which is why he suspects he should be thankful for this favor from Stark; a whole floor, all to himself, aside from the AI tracking him around. 

Dusk is hitting the city, peaches fading into that bruise-purple that Bucky is ashamed to admit he likes. _Bruises ache of accomplishments_, his brain whispers at him, and yeah, that’s another one he should probably keep to himself; at least until the training wheels are off and he can leave this fucking place. 

iii.

Bucky’ll be the first to admit that even though he can’t leave the Tower, he totally can. And will. 

Pulling the keys from his pocket, he heads towards Steve’s motorcycle. There’s something grounding about it, the way it lacks 99% of the tech that every other vehicle in the garage carries. He knows there’s tracking on it, even modded it himself after cozying up with Jarvis when no one else was around to tell him no. 

They had come to an agreement that night, that Jarvis would only sound the alarms if Bucky went haywire. Bucky had popped the arm open, showed the wall (_the goddamn wall_) where the killswitch was, and the two corresponding options: immobilization or termination. 

It was easier talking to a wall about these options than it had been talking to Steve. 

In return, Bucky remembers as he straddles the bike before tugging the helmet on, Jarvis won’t breathe a word of this escapade to anyone. He checks his gloves, his leathers, stifles a snort because it’s not like _not_ wearing them would hurt him anymore. 

Bucky only has a rough idea of where he’s going, just knows that it’s gotta be better than here. 

iv.

It’s cooler the further he gets from the city, and he’s glad for the layers he’d thrown on. He feels like a goddamn teenager all over again, growing pains, his body running hot and cold, who knows for what reasons anymore. He had been quick enough to cut off Banner when he first came to the Tower, saving them both the “you might’ve noticed some changes in your body” talk that neither of them wanted. 

There’s a gas station on the corner, and he goes to fill up before heading too far out. If Jarvis is gonna have to call his parents on him, he wants it to be for more than running out of gas. 

He looks up, past the neon of the station’s sign and fluorescent hum that’s highlighting the gas prices. The moon’s more exposed now, sharper in its clarity, and Bucky can make out some of the easier constellations. The threesome of Orion’s Belt is a comfortable favorite, one that he had shared with Stevie on both sides of the Atlantic, that tie to home that they clung to. 

He’s getting warmer, and he pulls the leather jacket around him tighter, attempting to cut off the cold. 

v.

If Bucky squints, he can faintly make out lights up ahead. He’d passed his last house several miles back, and so far there’s nothing in between. He slows down, pulling off onto the shoulder and then some. No use in coming all this way just to get hit by someone taking a turn too fast. 

A quick glance at his watch shows that he’s been driving for over an hour, and he pointedly continues to ignore the phone in his jacket pocket. They could wait. 

He’d been feeling small in the city, wandering that Tower until he knew how many steps to each important spot: the kitchen, Steve’s room, the outer edge of the gym. He watched them spar, but never offered himself up, not trusting his ability to override himself. 

New York had been more when it was smaller, brighter in a clean way, and hell if he thought he’d ever describe the city like that. But it was _his_, and _him and Steve’s_, and that made all the difference. It was still Steve’s now, but Captain America Steve, and Bucky was the illegitimate kid hidden away until the right time. It was...it was fine. It’s what had to happen in order for things to sift back into place. But the right thing stung something fierce sometimes. 

Tipping his head up, Bucky’s immediately dizzy. It’s perfect. It’s Coney Island dizzy, too much cotton candy dizzy, clinging to Steve walking home from the bars dizzy. That dizziness that comes from realizing how alive you really are. 

The Belt grounds him, Big and Little Dippers helping in their own ways. They’re the first layer, the spill of the Milky Way a road Bucky desperately wants to follow. But beyond that, deeper, are so many more stars, pinpricks dilating until they seem larger than life, larger than anything Bucky could’ve imagined.

He knows Stark’s been up there, a bunch of them have, he’s pretty sure, and wonders how familiar Stark is with the heavens. If those sky high dreams translate to the actual skies and not just alternating piles of bodies, depending on who’s paying more.

Bucky shakes his head, he came here to get away, to get out of today and the tower and everything.

When he lets his head fall back again, the sky is blurred by the moon’s halo. It registers in the back of his mind, maybe he has seen one, either long ago or maybe a bit more recent, but tonight’s is freshly new. 

There’s a faint sketch of rainbow to it, encircling the moon and bleeding onto the Milky Way like Steve’s watercolors used to do, that gorgeous blur of dark into light, how the deep purple seemed to eat everything up, and yeah, maybe he should talk to someone about this bruise thing if it’s gonna keep popping up like this. 

But the moon is there, sharp and glowing and while not quite full, Bucky can see enough of the shadows that play on its surface; the man in the moon, the curled up hare watching down on the world, and Bucky wants that again. 

Despite the remoteness, the last thing Bucky feels is alone. The stars are there, the moon secure, and he is among friends. 

“Out here in a field with a borrowed motorcycle,” he huffs out a sad laugh. “And the homesickness kicks in.”

He’s not sure if Jarvis is listening in on any of this, and honestly, trusts the guy enough even if he is. Bucky just can’t tell Steve this, can’t cope with that sad hangdog look at the thought of not being a part of _homesick_ for Bucky. 

But right now, this is home, those same stars looking over him now just as they were years back when he was shooting Nazis. All that time, and they’ve never moved on him, never went back on a single promise they twinkled out. Bucky doesn’t usually ache for the moon, just wants to count the stars and fall asleep, but tonight. Tonight has him wanting to be the moon, flaring up and secure in its place in the universe. 

Bucky doesn’t feel small out here, alone in a field, under the vast night sky. Home is being cast down upon him, moonlight shifting over the fields, and he takes comfort that, all things considered, it’s finally good to be here.


End file.
